Cycle of Strife
by Angst Equinox
Summary: Times are hard in Europe. The death of one empire and the bloody bapatism of another. As always the cycle of strife continues. Dark
1. Desperate measures

**_Cycle of Strife _**

_**Normandy, Northern France**_

**_0400 hours _**

The Panther was tense, angry and worried.  
Tense because a tremble ran though the planes; signaling the arrival of the British army.

Angry because I had to work with the likes of Faquarl. At least Jabor didn't talk and Queezle was actually fun. But no, Faquarl had to plot, hopeless plots that bordered on the insane. I tell you, when you are preparing for battle, it can be pretty annoying.

Worried because I was supposed to fight off the most powerful army on the Earth, at the time (I've seen better.) with a cohort of imps (not good.)

"Bartimaeus…?" I sigh, Queezle was inexperienced, hence afraid. Spirits as experienced, as I am, in humans and their sad affairs accept everything with a certain degree of world-weariness.

A strong tremble ran though the planes. Something powerful was coming. Queezle was still looking at me. World-weariness didn't mean I didn't want to live.

"Yes, Queezle." She was in the guise of a wolf.

"They're coming, we're out-gunned and out-numbered."

"But not out-smarted." Supplied the lizard headed soldier. (That was Faquarl, of course. Just checking. Never know with you humans.)

"Well put. Though Faquarl **is **dumbing us down a little, you still have **me**."

"**That**, Bartimaeus, is exactly the problem." Our little spat was cut short by the arrival of our scouts; low level foliots in the guise of sea gulls.

The British are coming! Marids! Ten of 'em!" This was bad news. _Marids._ Spirits of water, the most powerful class of defined demons.

"They've grown too arrogant." Faquarl broke my chain of thoughts. "They believe we can not resist, brazenly sending their Marids without support."

"Maybe so, but ten is too many." I spied the cream of our garrison; four demi-afrits and eight higher djinn move out to the beach, along with a regiment of human soldiers. I spied a slim man with a jackal's head among them. Jabor. So **he **is the 'reinforcements' my master was talking about…

The sea grew restless, small tidal waves splashed against the defender's shields. I saw them, at last, on the horizon. The vanguard of the British army. Marids.

They came in various forms: A sea dragon, giant octopus, killer whale, Poseidon and various other sea gods. But they all radiated power; their auras lighted the moody sea (on the higher planes; you _humans_ wouldn't have seen them) Soon they'll be in detonation range.

I sigh and ready myself, my companions did likewise. My thoughts drift back to Ptomey. What had he called it? The cycle of strife? I had disbelieved at first, but at times this, it was undisputable.

I stare at the marids, hear their battle cries. We are all trapped in it and I had to continue it.

The first detonation hit the defender's shield. The invasion of the holy Roman empire had begun.

…

_First fic in this realm. I'm usually at the teen titans. Review!_


	2. Tsunami

_**Cycle of Strife **_

_**A beachside fort on Normandy, Northern France**_

_**0410 Hours **_

I was desperately launching detonation after detonation at the approaching tsunami. My companions, the other spirits did the same. The human soldiers contended themselves with a hail of iron bullets and sizable doses of swear words. Which I won't be recording; but, boy, they sure taught me a pointer or two. It still wasn't enough.

"Damm! Bartimaeus, we should help them!" Queezle launched herself into to the fray; (See? I told you: inexperienced.) I sighed and followed her into our broken defenses. I quickly lost sight of her in the chaos.

A marid screamed, Jabor's echoed jackal cry though the night. I spied him twirling a silvered scythe, cutting though the shields of a wounded marid. The surviving djinn were rallying around his bloodlust. I better do the same. I wadded across the blood; the humans had, as usual, fallen like flies (Displaying far less intellect; the fly, at least, would try to escape, not attempt battle with the fly-swatter)

"Aaaa!" a spasm clipped my elegant tail. It shook me up, badly (That's what spasms do, in case you were wondering. It was a lucky shot in dark. Even the great Bartimaeus of Uruk can't escape plain bad luck.)

But even though shaking, I faced my attacker; it was, of course, a marid. It came in form of Poseidon; it raised its silver tipped trident for the killing blow, stepped forward…

"Heghhheeehe!" Into a hex; a pentacle burned at it's feet, sending bolts of electricity into it's chest. The magical version of a land mine. I couldn't believe my luck.

"There! Finish it!" a small squad of humans saw the marid's plight and rushed to battle. They started emptying iron shells at the already reeling marid, it's form flickered. I silently watched the fun.

"There! Another demon! Kill it!" The sergeant; a rugged French fellow; shouted in French (Duh)

"Huh? Wait! Sarge, I'm on your side!" But they didn't listen; they roared as one and started firing at me. I, regrettably, had to vaporize them. I sighed at their remains (Wasn't much) Sad waste of detonation-fodder.

My attention was soon captured by the marid, as it stumbled out the fizzling pentacle. The hex's potent power wasn't enough. It attempted a change; it's weakened essence flickered into full view.

I nailed it with a nova. Ever seen a marid implode? It isn't pretty.

I stand up, changing into a gargoyle, and utter a triumphant battle cry. You may out-muscle Bartimaeus of Uruk, al-Arish, serpent of the silver plumes; but never out smart him!

Unfortunately didn't hold true for the rest of my garrison. They were all dead; except for Jabor. I didn't expect him to last long; he was in a hopeless battle with a marid in the guise of a Hydra. I sigh, debating whether to help him or not.

Behind me the planes trembled again; it was a violent shock. I glance behind, as expected; the main force of the British army was coming. I take back my earlier words; they were formidable indeed. Flock upon flock horlas in the guise of ravens, ranging from horizon to horizon; descended on our bloody beach.

I sigh again; then I suddenly have an extremely brilliant idea. Boy, I thought a cartoon light bulb would appear on my head. (That's Bartimaeus for you: never out-smarted.)

I changed into the French sergeant. Think of it as my homage of his bravery (and of course: his stupidity.) And calmly pick up his guns; I felt the faint aura of silver.

My blue eyes narrow and the blond hair is ruffled by the breeze. This was degrading; but anything that floats my boat… I charge into the desperate contest between Jabor and the marid. Guns blazing with silver bullets, my aim unerring. The ammo is quickly expended and I change back to the gargoyle.

The marid roared in pain; Jabor gave one of his jackal-battle cry and lopped off one of it's nine heads. I added my detonations to the marid's woes.

Another battle cry; another head gone. The marid's form flickered, it was attempting a change. Bad move. Yet again, I nailed it with a nova.

I and Jabor cry out a victory cry together, it was a rare moment of camaraderie between us. I had killed two marids, that's better than al-Arish! (We spirits take pride in our track records though the centuries. Of course, few could match mine. I defeated eight uttuku, an afrit and a score of foliots in the battle of al-Arish. Beat that!)

My own achievements aside, the battle was lost, six marids were still alive. None of our magicians were (They deserved it though. I just hope their deaths were painful)

I sigh, fighting on meant certain death. I made a hasty choice. I changed into a raven and flew away. I was risking the shriveling fire, but it was a gamble worth taking.

I felt Jabor's gaze burn my underside. I didn't look back, but I sensed there was little camaraderie in it.

…

**_Over Normandy, Northern France _**

I flew over the whole of the battle site. I wasn't pleasant viewing. Other forts had fared little better than mine; none had won.

I sigh; the whole war was pointless. Prague had ruled for the better part of this millennium. In time, it had grown fat and lazy. Gone were it's golden days; when it rose to power on the weeping backs of a thousand djinn. (I included. I had many close calls in that time; I had lost count of the times I had just escaped bring confined in a construct, or being interred in an artifact.)

Naturally someone was taking advantage. And they had the advantage. Which brings me back to my point: the whole war was pointless. A token show of defiance. We were out-numbered, out-gunned and in some dim, vague way, their stupid humans out-smarted** our** stupid humans.

I sigh. Ptolemy's vague musings in the Egyptian sun was all too, bloody correct. The 'cycle of strife'. I had seen the fall of Cairo, the rise Rome. The battle pf al-Arish and the rise of Persia. Prague. And now: London.

My musings are yet again interrupted; this time by a summoning. I submitted to it's power with more than usual dread. Ahead lay the shriveling fire or a hopeless war.

…

_Okay. The next chapter, I promise you, will be a hatchet job. I'll try to make it **somewhat **unpredictable. _

_Tried describing things a bit, Lucky rat tail. Any difference? _


	3. Written in Blood

_**Cycle of Strife**_

**_Wine Street, Paris, France_**

_**430 Hours**_

I materialized, in accordance to laws immemorial, in a pentacle.

Choices, Choices. What form should I take? My life depended on it. Should I do something with humility or have one last laugh at my dear master's face before going to the shriveling fire?

I decided to do a bit of both. I appeared as his son. Black hair, pale skin, energetic of movement, bright of eye. He was wearing a simple white shirt and trousers.

He was looking at me with an expression of snotty indifference, which quickly was wiped off. He stared at me, expressionless.

"Bartimaeus." I grin, the same lopsided grin his son had had.

"You disobeyed my charge."

"**One **of your charges. Your other charge was to stay alive. Which I am." I shift my weight. Just as his son had.

"I should destroy you with a shriveling flame."

"But you aren't going to." I shift my voice into a perfect Czech accent. The pitch, timbre was perfect. I could see it discomfited him, so what're you going to do? Dismiss me or the shriveling fire?

"Don't push me, Bartimaeus. I have my limits." It was an empty bluster. He **needed **me. Destroying a servant (Particularly one of my virtuosity) in the middle of a war wasn't feasible. He didn't have the time or energy to summon another djinni. Besides, he was a weak one. Never hit me with anything but the stipples. I doubted he had the power to conjure the fire.

"Sure you do."

"Well. I want a report. Was the defeat total?"

"Yep. They hit us with nothing else than ten marids. They were only the vanguard. I sensed great power in the main force. A whole battalion of tenth level magicians. They had at least a couple of hundred horlas with them."

"Hmm… Two hundred horlas, you say? Nothing insurmountable."  
"They were only guards. They will conjure their army on the spot. I tell you, it will be formidable."

"We will defeat whatever wile forces the British call upon!... And what about their human troops?"

"Yes. Their herded on the ships like cattle. The scout spheres told us they were nearly forty thousand strong. Maybe more. The foliots were destroyed before getting an accurate measure." (Ever seen a horla eat something? Not pleasant.)

"We have more men, then."

"Your soldiers are untrained. Farm boys playing with guns."

"We have the advantage of defense!" I had riled him. Good. Now for the hard part.

"Which will not be **enough.** Not against Gladstone. I have heard that he uses an afrit as his door keeper. When a guy starts doing that, you know you don't want to mess with him. The British army is powerful, but strapped for information…" I broke off. The red hot stipples. Imagine a heated whip hitting your back.

"I am no traitor! I will serve the empire to the very end!" I calmly look at him. Ok. Didn't expect much from that, anyway. Now, to secure my dismissal.

"Kinda makes you wonder where **Eric** learned it from…" I hadn't expected something as potent as the simulating compass. But, the dismissal was worth it. Particularly in the middle of a war. The pentacle crackled with energy; from each of it's five points a lightning bolt sprang out and speared my essence.

I played my final gambit. I made a change though the excruciating pain. The boy's torso was suddenly covered with oozing wounds. His clothes were badly ripped. Blood dripped from his mouth. He raised a hand, the one that wasn't broken, imploringly to my master.

My master took an involuntary step back. Still in the pentacle, unfortunately. The spell was broken. The pain gone.

"_Father…" _My master stared at me, hypnotized with horror.

"_Please…?" _A gunshot rang out. The boy's head rolled back. Eyes glassy. A bullet shape hole in his forehead. He suddenly disappeared; leaving my master alone in his misery.

I had been dismissed.

…

**_The Other Place_**

I sigh. In the middle of my general ocean of hate of all magicians, there was a drop of pity.

My master was a fool. A weakling. Blinded by tragedy, going to his doom. Maybe I had been too cruel to him. I, after all, wasn't a magician.

I sigh again. But then again he was. That was his crime, you see? One that can never be forgiven. Our enmity was written in blood, spilt for five thousand years.

…


	4. Smoke

_**Cycle of Strife **_

**_The Other Place_**

_**? Hours**_

As usual, I fought the summons.

As usual, it was a token gesture.

My essence was stretched to infinity and cruelly torn for the chaos of the other place. I knew that at the end of eternity lay a pentacle.

Ever the optimist, aren't I?

…

_**Wine Street, Paris, France **_

_**0300 Hours.**_

_**3 weeks after Bartimaeus's dismissal **_

I decided to do Ptomey.

My surroundings materialized. An open pentacle, with a grandstand view of the Eiffel tower. (They call _this _a wonder of the modern word? Pardon, my derision, but a tower made from metal sticks doesn't impress someone who helped build the tower of _Orenios_) my master looked worn and tired. But very well alive. My hopes of him being killed were dashed. Well, time to face the consequences.

"Bartimaeus. Believe me I would like nothing more than to cast you to the shriveling fire. But I do not have the time to research another slave. Therefore, I charge you to comply to obey the charge laid by John Magus." I almost drop my jaw, but my powerful persona rejected such an act and I coolly look at my master. (Okay. That's a complete lie. But it was cool to write.)

"Magus? You mean your boss? The afrit… Borolo's master?" No consequences? Things must be bad indeed.

"Yes. His slave has been dismissed to recuperate… I hope a horla eats you on this mission."

"I love you too. So, what's the situation? Judging by the fact I'm not writhing in pain right now; they can't be too rosy." He snarled.

"Yes. They British have crushed all our forces in northern France. There is talk of treason. We believe them to be preparing for a strike at Paris." I mull this over. Well anything that saves me for the flame…

"Yeah. Real no-brainer. Maybe, if you work hard, someday you'll defeat their imps…" I had to weather the stipples at that. I then dematerialized for my charge.

…

_**Outside Paris, France**_

I rematerialize somewhere outside Paris. A pentacle painted in a raised platform in the greenery. I immediately noticed two things: One. The absence of any magician or higher spirits. Two. I shared the pentacle with five small blue imps. (An annoying variety. Got to hand it to my master: Being trapped in a small pentacle with five of them certainly an innovative type of torture.) They tittered complacently.

I sigh. Always the early bird, my master.

…

_**Outside Paris, France**_

_**0800 Hours **_

Five hours later, I caught sight of a small host of spirits and some magicians approaching me. By the time I was a sleek black cat, which stretched luxuriously inside the pentacle (The imps had long since disappeared in a strange incident that left me feeling quite full.)

"And this." Said my master. "Is my Djinn. Bartimaeus. Unfortunately, my other djinn are recuperating, so you will have to deal with this djinni of small brains and great impudence." I barely control my lip at this point. (I felt that the time, being inside a pentacle and surrounded by master magicians, was not the time for lip-service. But my master will soon beg for mercy against my tide of unanswerably witty remarks!... More or less.)

"Ah." Nodded the magician in the center (Red haired, thin and tall. Would have been imposing if he wasn't wearing a yellow pinstripe suit. But fashion sense aside, He radiated power.) "What level is it?"

"Fourth level Djinni." Magicians rank each of our types from level one to nine. Although, level can give no indication of ability. Modesty alone keeps me from speaking on.

"Tricky things." One of the French magicians stirred. An impudent looking fellow.

"And what, perchance, is your Demon?" I sensed a rift in them, consciously or not, all the Czech magicians tilted themselves toward Magus. The French likewise. Interesting…

"Level two Afrit. And **no **need to tell me yours. A lesser foliot, if I am not mistaken?" Judging by the blush on the Frenchman's face, he wasn't.

"At least, I can control it. I have heard tales about you, _Maggot._"

"Yes. I heard you French have a thing for fiction…" I was interested now.

"Maybe they'll kill each other." I whisper to a nearby djinni. A banshee. She gave me skeptic look.

"Been there, done that…" She muttered.

"Haven't we all?" The macho showdown ended with Magus pulling rank. He now addressed us.

"Your objective is north of Paris, Fifty miles; a battle was fought between our… allies and the British. We have no news about the conditions. Your mission is simple: reconnaissance and rescue of surviving magicians… or bring news of glorious victory." I raise a paw. My master sighed.

"Yes, Bartimaeus."

"No news? That means everyone's dead. And sending us on a rescue mission will be suicidal. Why don't you quietly forget about them and continue to brew more propaganda- ouch!" as usual, the red hot stipples broke my train of thoughts.

One of the Czechs, a female, thin and; I'm sure; wellproportioned, turned to me. "Because." She said calmly "The British are too close for comfort. You are to see** how** close. And besides the French third army, which was engaged in battle, is of great morale value to the commoners-"

"Being the force that killed dear Rudolf" the French guy rudely interrupted. Whether rightly or wrongly, I saw that he thought himself in a position. The woman smiled thinly. Really interesting.

"Just after he burned Paris, if memory serves." Rudolf, the greediest of the emperors. Memory did serve. It was the French guy's turn to smile thinly. (Boy, they're sure lacking in witty responses.)

"History repeats itself, _Madame'_; The British come to burn Prague."

"They'll have to go though Paris first. Or were you going stop them with your Foliot?" His eyes flashed.

"And yours being…?"

"Ninth level Djinni." Is it just me or are they talking about us a bit too much? The French guy blinked. (Seriously lacking)

"_Enough _Catherine; now to the task at hand…" Magus asserted himself, at last. They formally gave us their charges. The French guy muttered a good deal about a 'traitorous witch.'

…

_**Enroute to Battle site**_

**_0830 Hours _**

Things were already looking up.

Not only was there no British in sight, but I was already hooking up with old acquaintances. The 'ninth level djinni' was none other than my old acquaintance from Egypt, Balim. He sure never wavered in al-Arish or the War of _Set' _(Bloody battle of succession after Ramzes III bought it. I'm sure he would have liked it. A suitable end to a guy who fought al-Arish) and was precisely the djinni I wanted behind my back. He came as a shamanic bird totem (Raven), come to life. I liked his style.

My other companions included a succubus of some power (She claimed she spent time in Greece, venerated as the goddess Aphrodite. Not many of us get that lucky. Although I had second thoughts when she described her love life.) She was, at the moment a translucent banshee.

Other than that, they were the usual assortment of spirits. A lesser Afrit, some Djinn and a hotchpotch of foliots. (The French guy's too)

"Okay, were here." The Afrit said.

"Here?" I look around, a picturesque river valley; you know one of those paste-on-a-postcard types. Down on the beach, a small cottage lay. Nearby, two humans were-

I avert my gaze just in time. Well, point being it didn't exactly look like a battle site.

"Prison, down river. British prison. And change, will you? You guys are attracting too much attention." Fair enough. The planes rippled with the changes. Soon a flock of pigeons alighted on the pine trees.

We thrashed out a plan of campaign. And a couple of foliots, too. We gently reminded the others too: no movement while we work.

Well, the plan was simple (and so were the foliots) we wait for a prisoner caravan to approach. We destroy it and take its place. Crude but effective.

…

_**Valley in northern France**_

_**0900 Hours**_

Still waiting…

…

_**Valley in northern France**_

_**0930 Hours **_

No luck…

….

_**Valley in northern France**_

_**1000 Hours**_

You know what? This might be the flaw in our plan…

…

_**Valley in northern France**_

_**1023 Hours **_

A trampling in the woods. The spider perked up. **Now**, were talking. The prison caravan moved with the speed and elegance of a bull elephant. The soldiers had guns that radiated the aura of iron. Some imps guarded the company, along with a few wisps (Lesser Djinn, spirits of air. On the lower planes they appear as a heat blur, on the higher: incandescent halos of pale green light) hey, they were trying.

The spider moved at the speed of sound (Literally. What? Think I can't do it?) A detonation wiped the imps off the face of the earth. The soldiers moved fast. The wisps, faster. Me? Fastest. Another detonation. A wisp gone. I retreated a bit, the soldiers began firing, the spirits retaliated.

A screech tore the air (or at least: my eardrums.) a figure emerged from the forest. A shamanic bird totem. Giant wings of the raven and a human torso, wreathed in shadows. It gave another battle cry. Detonations and even the bullets rippled on its shield. Its aura pulsed with magic. Spirit, soldier, prisoner alike were consumed in a raging purple pestilence.

I liked Balim's style.

…

_**The British Prison **_

_**1030 hours **_

We marched in, unchallenged. Not so much as an imp accosted us. The human soldiers dozed in their towers. We took the forms of some guards; the rest of our caravan was made out of an illusion. Pretty shoddy affair, they existed up to the third plane.

"I don't know about you, but this doesn't look like a high security prison to me." A guard glanced at me.

"**Do **you have a better plan, Bartimaeus?" I hesitated. "I thought so."

My elegant remark was cut short by a challenge. "Halt! Who goes there, Friend or Foe?" We were already though the 'gate.' The British probably subscribed to the theory of better late than never.

"Friend." I roll my eyes. Has there been ever any other response to that old poser?

The guard clumsily marched up to Balim. Judging by the general lack of condition, this wasn't even a British prison. Spanish, maybe.

"Identification." Silence. Perhaps for ten seconds. The guard got an eloquent detonation to the face. (Maybe not eloquent, more like 'ha, ha, answer that, sucker!' type of thing)

An inhuman roar of rage shattered the stunned silence of the guards. A small ragtag group of foliots and ghuls materialized. We let the illusion fall, the planes rippled with collapsing magic. The spirits and guards meandered around in confusion. We took the opportunity to charge out.

I let detonations fly, destroying a couple of foliots. I change into a gargoyle without breaking stride. I came face to face to one of the 'friend or foe' guards.

"Foe." I vaporize him too. All said and done, the defenders didn't stand a chance. I survey my companions. The afrit looked somewhat plump.

"Search the camp?"

"Search the camp."

…

_**1036 Hours **_

What a surprise! Not a single French magician found.  
hoo-hum

We found some French prisoners, and since we were instructed to rescue magicians, the afrit ate them. After some short delibrirations we decided to return and give our masters the news.

…

_**Enroute to Paris**_

_**1100 Hours**_

A detonation ruptured our joyfully easy return home. Well, you can't get anything for nothing, can you? Resistance is almost expected.

We turned, the foliots scattered. A djinni silently took his leave via vaporization. We turned to our attackers; a couple of horla and a ragtag group of succubae. My misgivings about the whole mission caused me notice one detail.

They looked **very **French.

The newly rounded afrit charged them, turning into a burning phoenix enroute. It moved sluggishly, our attacks proved useless against their collective shields. I spotted another worrying fact: more horla, flying from the woods. Down below a small army of imps rose up.

"RUN!" I scream and do. The others follow my lead. A lone Djinni stood his ground. The ambushers converged on him and the afrit; giving us an escape Route. And escape we did. Behind us we heard the death cries of dying djinn. (It's not running away… think of it as a tactical withdrawal.)

Ten minutes later, no pursuit. By the time, Paris came into view. Actually, not exactly into _view_. You see, our sight was obscured by thick black smoke; the kind that comes from high intensity infernos.

This only spurned us onto greater speeds.

…

_Jacked up the melodrama in this chapter. Hopefully the dark parts and slapsticks struck a balance. _

_In other words: REVIEW! _

_Minor edit. I was wondering why Rekyt sounded so familiar…_


	5. City of Lights

**_Cycle of Strife _**

_**Paris, France **_

_**1100 Hours **_

A raid.

On the first plane the humans wandered around dazed. A few hardened soldiers and militia stood guard.

On the higher planes the world was a mesh of activity. Imps and Foliots repaired ruined battlements and ruptured shields. Djinn stood guard inside the city walls; the countryside was empty was activity. I sensed powerful magic just off the horizon.

By now I had learned powerful equals to British.

The whole British army had parked itself outside Paris. Not good.

We separated. I head to the center of Paris; a maze of nexuses. Eventually I found my master. He and some more Czech magicians were seemingly engaged in packing their bags and preparing to run.

"Ah; tactical withdrawal?"

"Something like that. **You** will stay here and report on events." I just **had** to open my mouth.

"Report on events! What reporting do you need! The British are coming tomorrow; Paris will offer token resistance and become a part of the British Empire! And then- Ouch!" OK, scratch hysteria.

"I **said** report on events."

"Will do."

…

_**1500 Hours. **_

OK. Reporting on events: My master and co. had long gone. The French magi ran the show now. Meanwhile the British surrounded the city and preparing to storm the city. And I'm still bound to 'report on events'

The planes shuddered.

The magic was strong; it seeped though the battlements, everything seemed to glow in the seventh plane.

By morning everyone will be dead.

How am I supposed to 'report on events' them?

…

_**1800 Hours**_

Iron cannon balls began raining on the city, with the intermittent detonation. Any hope of miraculous French resistance was fast drying up.

….

_**2100 Hours **_

The British attacked, by time it was almost a mercy killing. We were that bad. (Even my presence couldn't save us.)

The 'Battlements' exploded. Well, not exploded. Dissipated into atoms is a more correct analogy.

It took about two detonations to kill all the defenders. (I decided that if I am to 'report on events' I best stay alive. And fighting the onrushing mass of death and magic wouldn't improve my odds of survival.)

We retreated to mesh of nexuses were the magicians resided. It was a bloody battle. The British were slowed by tenacious street to street combat.

I joined them with my customary haste.

…

…

…

I hit a Ghul with a nova. Then another with an inferno.

Convulsion. Detonation. Spasm. Inferno. Pestilence.

They just kept coming.

Too many, far too many; we lost ground, one house at a time. It had been a age since I witnessed the true horror of war.

There! The dying shriek of a Djinni.

Here! A pestilence consumed an entire battalion of humans.

It was hard to distinguish between friend and foe. It was only a matter of time before even the great Shah al-jinni, the serpent of the silver plumes fell.

An inferno hit me. My essence was burnt.

…

A limping rat managed to escape the fighting. This was intensely embarrassing.

Time to lay low until the summons.

…

_Sorry for this pathetic excuse for a ending chapter. Part II will come soon. _


	6. Prolouge, Part II

**_Prologue, Part II _**

_**Cologne, Prussia **_

_**0500 Hours**_

I walked on the side streets on a mundane errand; dreamy of the glory to come.

It was a cold winter. Snow fell lightly on the streets of the city; giving it an angelic look.

How wrong can you be? Soon the snow will be soaked red.

A morbid thought.   
"…" I wondered whose blood it will be. Death was blind. Was it enough? Was I enough? Will they stay true to their promise? They were magicians after all…

It matters not. Soon a war will won.

Soon we will be free.

…

_**Rote dame Street. **_

I was finally summoned back to my master. I didn't bother with too much theatrics.

Ah, now to report on events…

I came as a Czech boy, blood oozing from numerous wounds. Three guesses who.

"Bartimaeus." I took in my surroundings; a huge plush bungalow type of thing. It had a multitude of pentacles painted on the floor, excluding an unhealthy aura. I was mildly surprised to see Queezle and Faquarl and co. The other magi were present too. "I charge you to relate the events at Paris."

"_Relate events? _The French got slaughtered, **that's **what happened. The British were advancing; they'll be here soon. You know that informant vacancy is still open…"

"And the shriveling fire is still ready." He said dryly. "As usual your opinion is ill considered and unasked for. The French were traitorous; the British punished them for us." _Punished them? _ I remember the death shrieks of the Djinn, the crying infants, the screams, the horror… Humans and your sad affairs, why can't you leave us out of it.

"Now the British will be dashed at our stronghold here." Really? I observe the activity around us; Impressive in all counts, worthy of an Empire's army… but I still had that gut feeling of impending doom…

My master ranted some more and asked for details; I gave him the details, with grotesque accuracy.

I got that much needed dismissal.

…

YA-HOO! Part II!


	7. Dark Horizons

**_Cycle of Strife _**

_**Gothic style Manor, Cologne Suburbs, Prussia **_

**_A day after the Dismissal _**

"Are you ready?"

"Ready? I've been ready for days…"  
"Ah, let me rephrase it: are you able?"  
"Of course. You can trust me." She laughed at that.

"Trust you? That I can not do…" I tilt my head. I resist a smile; if only she knew…

"You have the mantle?"

"…Yes."

"Are you sure I won't find baby powder inside of it?" She smiled; but her eyes were calculating.

"No; it is a hermetic mantle, nothing less, nothing more."

"Good… then it is time for me to leave."  
"You will do well to remember: betray me and…" She left the promised horrors unsaid. I felt a twinge of annoyance.

"Yes, I remember."   
"Good. And never forget."

I left. I had no illusions of what I am doing. For all I know, I was happily going to my death. I was a commoner; and to them, commoners are expendable.

…

_**The Other Place **_

The memories of human wars are painful in the Other Place.

Humans forget; cloak them in an illusion of glory.

We remember every excruciating detail. The horrors, the pain… the death. There is no glory. Only pain.

I tell you this: war is just an acceptable name for rape, murder, death and destruction.

The Other place vibrated with the death of a dozen djinn every day; at time it felt like it was singing a requiem for them.

At times it felt like I was next.

Of course the summoning wasn't improving my mood.

…

_**Magician's residence, Cologne **_

The temperature in the room dropped; the candles flickered and died. Barely audible howling could be heard; as if from far away. Disembodied voices whispered wicked things just beyond those pastel walls (A sickly yellow color; the gold threads that traversed it made it look like the building had malaria.)

Hey; my master will do well to remember who he is enslaving! (Bartimaeus, Of Uruk, al-Arish, the serpent of the silver plumes ect, ect. )

"Will you stop the theatrics! I have work for you." I shifted into a hideous rotting corpse.

"Right. Tell me something new."

He sighed. "Give me one good reason not to use the infernal coals."

"Ah… you have work for me?"

"Good."

…

_**Town hall, Cologne **_

_**2100 Hours**_

And here we are. Cologne town hall.

Why? No idea. But it feels good visiting a new place (As a provincial capital of an empire, it was a place of countless assassinations, riots, coups and general shabbiness. Still, it had a nice swimming pool) and there was always the hope my master had gone mad and was about to commit suicide…

"Now, to business." Ah, well…

"Yeah. Now, what is that? Assassination of top Prussian leaders? Slaughtering innocent commoners? Willful- Ouch!" The stipples. Can't help it, I was a motor mouth today; it was my **master's **fault! I'm practically getting whiplash from these short visits to the other place! I need a rest. And if I have to bring him to the brink with constant jibes, then so be it!  
On the other hand, the shriveling flame is not good for your health…

"We are here to investigate a strange incident of robbery." A '_strange incident of robbery?'_

"Yep, pretty strange. Now, why are you playing Sherlock Holmes?" He scowled at the reference to the British.

"Remind me why you aren't in pain right now." He was prickly today.

"My charisma? Excellent conversation? Impeccable persona?" I spotted a bulging vein n his forehead. "Err… your merciful and insightful ways?"

"Quite beyond me. I charge you to stay watch and destroy anyone who tries to enter!" He disappeared into the hall.

I changed into a fearsome lion headed warrior and stand guard with my usual vigor. Who dares challenge Bartimaeus of Uruk! None!

I look left. An elderly lady was buying some groceries.

I look right. A dog was heeding the call of nature on a memorial to the 'glorious wars of empire'

I look down. A cat sat, fast asleep.

I look up. A sparrow chirped happily in its nest.

…

_**2130 Hours**_

The dog was happily on its way. (The statue was a different matter)

…

_**2200 Hours**_

The elderly woman finished her shopping.

…

_**2230 Hours**_

The sparrow was asleep.

…

_**2245 **_

The cat ate it.

…

_**2300**_

Just when I thought I was going to die of Boredom! My master, some other magicians, Faquarl, Jabor and Queezle.

"Hail, master! I have completed my charge and destroyed some mosquitoes who were trying to invade your meeting!" I gave an exaggerated salute. He glared at me. Faquarl snorted.

"Now, friends, to the scene of the crime." One of the Magi spoke, or to be more accurate, hackled.

"Quite." I cozied up to my master and asked for an explanation with my customary eloquence.

He, disarmed by my excellent grammar, replied. "Yesterday, a robbery happened at the treasury."

"So, the British are knocking at the door and we're on a wild goose chase for some metal coins?"

"That's the strange part. None of the gold was stolen."

"None? Then what was?"

A pause. "The treasury was also used as an armory." I narrowed my eyes.

"Armory, you say? What was kept in it?" I started to have a bad feeling about this…

"Our defenses." What?... oh.

"Please say they stole some antique guns."  
"A third of our Golem incantations and eyes."

"Now… **that's **bad."

"You don't say."

…

_I know, I know. A trinity of confusing and crap chapters. Please forgive the writer's block. _


	8. The Three Magi

**_Cycle of Strife _**

_**Town hall treasury, Cologne**_

_**2315 Hours**_

"Let me get this straight. You protected the wealth of Cologne and an armory of the baddest magic in town, with one measly pestilence?" A grunt

"Put up by Cough _you?_" Another grunt.

"And now, a half brained commoner just broke in and took about a third of our defenses?" Another grunt, this time sullen.

"And the British are how far?" He glared at me.

"600 km. And not closing. They appear to have lost momentum."

"Don't count on it."

"Shut up!" I felt a slight tremor in my essence, even though weak, a master was a master. All humans are cattle. Although some taste better… "And focus on he ask a hand. Someone must have provided the Hermetic Mantle. We must find the traitor and destroy him."

"_Another _traitor? Does it ever occur to you that these guys have a point?"

"No." I sigh. And bite back a response; I've pushed him as far as I dared.

…

_**2330 Hours. **_

I must admit this defied explanation.

A commoner, armed with a hermetic mantle managed to breach the (Pathetic) Defenses of the treasury, overwhelm a foliot guard and instead of taking the riches of the Empire (A few piles of shiny gold coins) took a right turn, Destroyed a fairly heavy weight Djinni guard and steal some Watch eyes and life manuscripts.

How did we know it was a commoner? No magical emissions, which ruled out a spirit higher than an imp. A hermetic mantle was used, which ruled out Magi (If they dared risking their skin, they would have not used a clumsy mantle; a high level Djinni was better suited to the task. Besides they'll never risk their skin.) How did we know it was _one _commoner? If they were many, they would have been seen. And besides, the number of items stolen would right about fit into a travel bag.

And this commoner was good. He had used a mantle to neutralize a pestilence guarding the door, and then proceeded to escape a variety of detectors and trip wires, proceeding to destroy a foliot and a Djinni with a variety of silver weapons. Almost impossible.

Almost.

It would have to be a person with immense resistance to magic and the special sight. Also there was the matter of the mantle…

My investigations had proceeded so far before I ticked my master too much and he stippled and dismissed me.

…

_**The Rhine **_

_**2330 Hours **_

The river meandered peacefully along the oppressed city. Just a hint of frost could be seen on its pleasant waters.

But I was concerned with what else.

Could someone spot a hint of red in the endless blue?  
Can a sinking figure be seen? Bathed in red?  
Can anyone hear the laments of the dead?

The answer was no.

It had been an exhilarating experience. I had returned, with the great prize sitting coolly in my pocket, having defeated the magician's demons and traps.

He demanded if I had brought it back. With all his arrogance and swagger.

It all disappeared when my blows started to rain. First I cut his throat; to stop him summoning help… the rest was a blur.

All I now was that he was a soon a bitter memory, floating down the Rhine. Soon to be forgotten.

The first of many. Hopefully.

…

_**Magician's residence, Cologne **_

_**0100 Hours **_

Time does not exist in exist in the other place. At least not in conventional sense.

Even so, I know when I am short time. Seriously short timed.

That's why I pretty pissed to find myself in a summoning hall, facing that female magician, whatizname… Catherine, which will translate to… Izzy! (Magicians, being vainglorious bastards, are always ticked off by their nick names.)

I look around. Faquarl, Queezle and Jabor. Some other Djinn too. She summoned them all by herself? Impressive.

"Slaves!" She sounded drained. And just that hint of nervousness. I've heard it before. In Caesar, in his last days, fearing rebellion. In Cleopatra, after hearing the news of her hubby's defeat. In Solomon, when his facilities were failing.

It was panic, desperately cloaked. Don't let the bad demon know something is wrong, type of tone. This was interesting. "I charge you protect the Cathedral of saint Sophia from a possible attack by rebels. Do you understand?" Extremely interesting.

"The cathedral? You'll need a small army to go anywhere near it." Very true. It was guarded by retinue of foliots outside and in the places commoners could visit. In the inner chambers, there lay the bones of the three magi (Powerful Persian magician kings. Where the first coverts of Jesus of Nazareth.) protected by a elaborate array of nexuses and traps. And the aura of mystery that surrounded the bones and their hated owner.

"Quiet demon!" She raised a hand. I felt a pressure on the pentacle.

"Or what, Izzy? You're not our master." Her eyes flashed.

"You will obey me." She said quietly. "Or face the shriveling flame." She raised her hand. I writhed under the essence rack. "**Do **you understand?" I nod weakly.

"Good. Now go." We went.

…

_**Cathedral of Saint Sophia, Cologne**_

_**0300 Hours**_

"I'm telling you Faquarl, this is fishy."

"So, you Bartimaeus, so you say. For the how many time?"

"Uh, Fifteenth, I think." Quipped Queezle. ****

"Didn't you hear her voice? She's nervous, panicked; I tell you!"

"Of what?"

"You tell me, Faquarl! She's your master!"

"Human are cattle…"  
"Although some taste better." I complete the couplet. (Long story.) "But this one's panicked, I tell you!"

He sighed. "That essence rack has addled your brains, Bartimaeus."  
"What are you chattering about? Back to guard duty!" Balim suddenly appeared out of a turret. (Did I mention it was the place was a woe begotten gothic cathedral?)  
"Stuff it. Who made you the boss, anyway?"

"A robust essence and the fact I can eat anyone of you with impunity." Good point.

"Uh… how are we supposed to guard this, anyway? The damm cathedral's aura almost blinding." True. The adoration of the magi and a number of other potent artifacts resided with the bones. The burial shroud of Moses is rumored to be in there. Like I said: Blinding.

"Try wearing sunglasses."

"You're not helping."  
"Okay, Okay… try limiting your sight to the first planes."

"And how am I supposed to guard then?" He grumbled.

"I don't how you're going to do it… but you're **going **to do it."

"Oh yeah?"   
"Yeah!" He stepped forward, there was a dangerous glint in his eye. His essence suddenly pulsed, the planes slightly moved out of synch.

"Yeah, Doing it."

"Good."

…

_**0330 **_

I swear, I'm going blind. But you don't argue with someone who stood up to Atlas at Thermopylae. (We were fighting for the Persians)

And so I sat there, squinting though the light. And would have gone blind.

_Would have _if a fellow djinni's dying shriek hadn't disturbed me.

Life's never boring when you're Bartimaeus of Uruk.

It was the succubus, Lilac. I felt a pang of recognition for my comrade in arms. The sight of her dead essence added some extra zing to my detonation.

Of course magic doesn't work against golems. It stood there, absorbing my magic; its very presence dimmed the building's aura. Light seemed to drain into it; giving it terrible clarity.

The sight of the shoddy workmanship rather put off the effect. There were no eyes, the torso and arms were oversized. And it was made of mud. With bits falling off.

Balim's pestilence was absorbed into it. My other attacks included. Damm. Still potent.

I changed into a gargoyle and flew away from a swinging fist.

Detonation. Fist! Inferno. I continued the whirlwind fight, my strength undiminished; the shoddy golem exhibited some strain. Here and there mud globs fell off.

Here and there djinn died.

But not I! Bartimaeus of Uruk, of al-Arish! Shah al-Jinni, the consort of kings! I had fought the likes of Atlas and Theodora at Thermopylae! Defeated the uttuku hordes and Tchue at al-Arish! Yes, I am Bartimaeus!

Having said this, you must agree with me, it was a lucky blow. Suddenly I found my essence being crushed in a crumbling mud fist

_Cold. _My essence withered under the element earth's influence. I gathered my energies, preparing an attempt to escape, I sensed movement in the darkening world.

_Heat._ Intense and withering. I fired a detonation into the crippling fist, sensed it loosen… let go.

_Pain._ I flopped to the ground, blacked out. My last image was the golem; breaking apart under a crackling tornado of magical energy.

…

_**Yeah! Writer's block finally over! (Hopefully.)**_

REVIEW! 


	9. Dreams

**_Cycle of Strife_**

_**Alexandria, Ptolemaic Egypt **_

_**8 BC **_

I sat there, as always. Cross legged, in the guise of an Egyptian scribe.

"Tell me Rekyt, is there time in the other place?" Answering questions no other sane magician will ever ask.

"No."

"I find that hard to imagine." I stirred. I doubted that. Ptolemy's imagination could encompass many a world other than ours.

"It's a complicated concept."

"I have the time." I debated my words for a moment. Yet another first with Ptolemy.

"Well, think of it like this: When you fall asleep, time in your dreams is entirely different to real time. Each dream lasts a mere 20 seconds or so, but days can pass in the dreams.

Time can also appear to run at different speeds – Said, Solomon:' _if you sit on a hot stove for a minute, it seems like an hour. If you sit with a nice girl for an hour, it seems like a minute._'

That's the closest we can come to understanding time in the Other Place."

He pondered this silently. I pondered my words too; I've never explained it to a human before…

"That's quite useful Rekyt… very useful…" I look him in the eye.

"Useful for what?" He stirred.

"What?"  
"You said it was useful. I ask: useful for what?" He inclined his head.

"Nothing… Nothing… just…"

"Just what?"

"I have a theory…"

"You always have a theory."

"Yes, Rekyt. It's based on your reports on past history… so much blood for so little reason…" I sighed, Ptolemy was in one of those moods…

"There's always a reason… Greed, selfishness, megalomania, jealousy… base human nature… _You _never need a real reason..."

"So you think."

"Yes. Look at you. What reason do you have? Curiosity? Idiocracy? Or just plain megalomania?"

"Idealism." I was taken aback.

"Idealism?"

"Yes. The current path of magic… summoning spirits, enslaving them, using them… without understanding them can only lead to chaos… there must be another ways…"

"There are no musts in this world, Ptolemy… things will never change. Each summoning binds us in the absolute chains of pain. Each of your words only serves to increases the shackles… there is no room for idealism in a world of pain…" I rambled there. Ptolemy and I stared at each other.

"Do you think so, Rekyt." I looked him in the eye, weary.

"Yes. You are a fool not to." He stood up. The light reflected across his brown skin, unblemished beauty. He slowly moved his, with all the grace, wisdom and finality of god. He inclined his head, suddenly throwing his eyes into shadow…

"Is that so?" Perfection. Utter perfection.

"…"

"Do you not realize Rekyt?" the moment was over, the lighting changed. "The whole world is locked in a cycle of blood and pain, of strife. Empires rise to glory on your broken backs, then fall to dust, heralding the successor… only achieving more blood in our accounts! This must end, Rekyt… Another way must be found…" He grew thoughtful.

"What way?" I regained my thread. "There is no way! There has been no other way than the pentacle." I stared him down.

"No. Affa tells me, that in the northern wastes; there exist tribal shamans, who leave their own bodies and converse with spirits in their own element."

I laughed harshly. "That way is far too perilous for the corn fed priests of Egypt." I made it sound final. He looked at me again.

"Then perhaps…" He lowered his voice to the merest of whispers. "I have another way…"

"What?" He shook his head. And sat down, cross legged and picked up the quill.

"Tell me about the barriers that separate our world." An odd request. I shrugged and complied.

"There exist four impassable barriers that separate our world, they represent the magical element: Earth, fire, water and air-"

…

_Everything was disjointed, shapeless. _

_Where am I? _

_A golem… _

_Ptolemy…_

_Alexandria…_

_Cologne… _

_Things started to make sense… the world slowly started to appear… _

_The modern world. 2000 years after Ptolemy's death._

_Still trapped in the cycle of Strife. _

…

_**Cologne, Prussia **_

_**0345 Hours**_

Alone. My essence was hurt.

But I was still alive.

I slowly and painfully got up and completed my charge of reporting to my master.

…

_A door… _

_A door I had a key to. A door behind which lay the… truth… _

_I coveted the truth… afraid of it… _

_I walked up to the door… the corridor was endless…_

_Walking…_

_Walking…_

_Floating…_

_Flying…_

_At last… the door… I put the key in... Turn… the door opens… Slowly…_

_The truth… Afraid… so very afraid…_

_The door opens. _

"_**Nnoooooooooooo!" **_

…

I wake up with a start. A dream. Just a dream.

I look at the person who woke me, Leni, a colleague.

"Wha-? What is it?" She stares at me for a moment. Barely concealing sock and panic.

"Magus is dead." My opens slightly.

There are very thin lines between dreams, waking and madness. I'm afraid I just crossed one.

…

_I dimly realized I was in a dream. _

_A world without pain. _

_A world without slavery. _

_Freedom. _

_Lizzie back. _

_Michael back. _

_Francis back. _

_Alfafa back._

"…"

_A world without magicians…_

…

_Loved writing that. Review! _


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